BRAINRUSH 02 - The Enemy of My Enemy (34 page)

“Leave their masks in place,” Battista ordered two of the men in the back of the truck. They had already removed their hazmat suits to reveal underlying uniforms that matched those of the guards’. The two jumped out the rear doors and ran to the bodies.

“Vigilance!” Abbas added sharply over his headset. “Keep the tactical net open at all times and report anything unusual.” Both soldiers nodded as they dragged the first of the bodies into a nearby building.

Abbas switched on the headlights and drove into the mountain. 

**

Jake opened his eyes to discover the image of Gandalf the Great staring back at him. He blinked away his disorientation and refocused. It was the engraving on Doc’s meerschaum pipe. It must have skittered across the floor when he collapsed.

Ignoring the uncomfortable wetness in his trousers, he pushed himself to his feet and rushed to Doc’s side. His pulse was steady; so was Timmy’s. A couple of slaps to their faces didn’t change a thing. They were out cold. But alive.

Thank God
.

Bodies were strewn all over the room. A few of them were still seated, their torsos folded over the tables. Everyone had lost consciousness in a matter of seconds. The fuzziness in Jake’s head cleared and his mind went into afterburner, fueled by rage. He removed his pants and found the small cylindrical device that had obviously been implanted in his colon.

Bastards
.

He pulled off his T-shirt, moistened it with the contents of a water bottle, and wiped the blood and mess from his legs. Then he donned a pair of clean coveralls he found in a row of lockers at the back of the room. It all made sense now, he thought—his abduction by Battista’s men in Mexico, the all-too-easy escape, the recurring cramps. He fingered the four-inch-long flexible cylinder that had been embedded inside him. In addition to the concentrated gas it had held, it apparently housed a GPS tracker of some sort. Tracking Jake had been child’s play. They’d obviously delivered the intel to the Feds and his gnawing gut already suspected why.

He dropped the cylinder to the floor and stomped on it. It was probably too late to do any good. He looked at his watch. The fact that the device had been activated over an hour ago meant that the next phase of Battista’s plan was already in progress.

As if on cue, movement on the large screen at the front of the room caught his attention. Several figures in hazmat suits entered the main cavern and made their way toward the pyramid. One by one they removed their flexible helmets. Jake saw red when he recognized Battista.  

He hesitated. Charging into the fray was immensely tempting. He couldn’t deny he felt a primal urge to deliver extreme violence—up close and personal. But what chance did he really have of prevailing? The men out there were armed to the teeth. He bit off his anger and came up with another plan.

He’d have to settle for getting one step ahead of the bastards.

**

Battista’s hazmat team fanned out in the amphitheater-like room, pausing to check the bodies of the few people who had been stationed at the rows of computer consoles. The team had passed several guards and technicians in the passageways leading here. Each was as motionless as those in this room.

Kadir had once again outdone himself, Battista thought. The small volume of self-regenerating gas contained in the implanted device had performed exactly as he had said it would, expanding and reproducing exponentially to invade every corner of the complex. Only the aboveground guards had been spared. They had been quick to make the emergency call that Battista’s team had intercepted.

Of course, the American would have been spared as well. The capsule had included a dose of antitoxin that limited the effects of the drug. Otherwise, the heavy concentration of toxin would have killed him instantly. In any case, the half life of the gas was only ten minutes; it had become inert long ago.

Battista removed his hazmat hood. Abbas and the rest of the team did the same. One of the men at the other end of the room called out, “No sign of the American.”

Battista didn’t acknowledge the comment. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, at least not at the moment. The artifact that had become his obsession stood just thirty feet in front of him. It appeared to be an exact duplicate of the pyramid that his tribe had idolized for over a thousand years. His sources had been correct—it truly existed.

He felt a surge of pride. The Americans weren’t the only ones with undercover assets embedded in key positions of foreign governments. And now the fruit of his carefully crafted plan was within his reach. He’d grab the device, find the American, and—

Urgent words over his headset cut through his thoughts. “I have a call from Aamir!” the guard at the front gate reported. Though cell service was nonexistent this far beneath the surface, the call could be transferred over their tactical network.

“Patch him through,” Battista ordered. 

He felt the blood drain from his face as he listened to the man’s report. After several minutes, the connection was severed.

Battista forced himself to breathe. The fury coursing through his veins had short-circuited his autonomic nerve responses. His hand went to his neck and he rubbed and twisted the patch of blistering scars, welcoming the mind-clearing pain it caused, reminding him of the debt that Jake Bronson had yet to pay.
The damnable American and his friends… 

  Abbas removed the switchblade from his pocket. His face was a mask of deadly determination. He’d heard the report as well. “He will wish he was never born,” he growled.

“Wait,” the
sheikh
ordered. “There is a better way.” The imaginary chess pieces in his mind shifted as he formulated his next move. After a moment, he smiled. “We shall have them all. Every last one of them.”

**

It was dead quiet in the room. The previous sounds of a motorized vehicle had faded nearly fifteen minutes ago. It had sounded like a forklift. The Dari voices accompanying it were gone as well, though a few of them had at one point been just a few feet from his hiding space. Jake opened the door of the metal closet he’d been crouched in. His foot slipped when he stepped into an expanding pool of blood on the tiled floor. He caught himself and stared unbelievingly at the scene before him. The two dozen people who had been unconscious just a short while ago were all dead. Their throats had been slit.

Jake checked the first body. Then the second. It was no use. Rushing to the bank of lockers, he yanked the first one open. Timmy’s inert form spilled onto the floor. He was unconscious but still breathing. Jake opened the next locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Doc was all right as well. He’d stuffed them into the lockers just before he’d hidden himself. If there had been more time, he’d have done the same for the others. As it was, he’d barely made it into the closet before the first of Battista’s men had entered the room.

  He moved Doc and Timmy into more comfortable positions, muttering an apology for the terror he’d brought into their lives. Shaking his head in disgust, he hurried out of the room. He stopped short when he reached the main cavern. His heart caught in his throat. Even though he’d pretty much expected it, the sight hit him like a blow to the head.

The pyramid was gone.

Chapter 61

South Central Los Angeles, California

“J
eez, dude,” Marshall said. “You’re walking like Herman Munster with those shoes.”

“
His
boots woulda been a better fit.” Tony had just returned to Papa’s house from a rushed trip to the LAPD evidence room, where he’d picked up the black sneakers. They were heavier than he expected, and two sizes smaller than his feet. His toes curled painfully in their tips. He hoped like hell the shoes worked.

“We’re ready to move out, Sarge,” Papa said. Ripper and Snake stood beside him, armed to the hilt. Freddie towered behind them. Becker was outside, loading a little surprise of his own into a Tommy Taco food truck parked in the driveway. The team had emptied the contents of the truck and converted it to a mobile command vehicle. “Street and his boys already left. They should be on scene soon.”

Papa must have noticed Tony’s concern. “You can trust them, Sarge. They know how to keep a low profile. No one makes a move ’til you arrive.”

“Okay, then,” Tony said. “Let’s mount up.”

Lacey was the first to move toward the door.

“Whoa. Where d’ya think you’re goin’?”

She rolled her eyes, opened the door, and kept walking.

“It’s no use,” Marshall said. “I’ve already been down that road with her. If I go, she goes.”

“You’re going too?” Tony said. “What the hell, Marsh? This ain’t gonna be no picnic.”

“Dude, of course I’m going.” He handed Tony an inner-ear com bud. “The rest of my gear’s already hooked up in the truck. How the hell else are you going to coordinate this thing?”

Marshall had a point. Normally Tony would have a fully equipped SWAT tactical team backing him up in a hostage situation like this. But that wasn’t an option here. The lives of his wife and kids depended on them keeping the authorities out of it. Hell, even if LAPD
was
involved, they’d never allow him to attempt the insane stunt he had planned.

He glanced toward the back of the room. Francesca, Bradley, and the children filed in from the kitchen. Max bounded in beside them, followed by three armed bangers. They would remain behind as guards. 

They’ll be safe.

He turned to Marshall. “All right,” he said, inserting the device into his ear. “But you both stay in the truck, no matter what.”

“No problem.”

As they trailed Lacey outside, Tony went over the plan one last time in his head. So many things could go wrong.

He sure wished Jake was here to help.

**

“I still can’t reach Tony’s son,” Marshall whispered to Lacey. He tapped the mouse pad on the laptop, preparing to send another
Call of Duty
game invite to the boy’s username. “Either they took his PSP away from him, or—”

“Don’t think it,” Lacey said. She glanced toward the front of the truck where Tony was huddled with Papa and Becker. “Keep trying.”

It was stuffy inside the cramped truck. The leftover odor of refried beans thickened the air. Marshall sent another invite. He hoped they weren’t too late.

He turned his attention to the large LCD screen mounted on the truck’s sidewall. It depicted a live overhead view of the target area. The image was crystal clear, thanks to the Raven portable drone circling overhead, compliments of Papa’s scrounger. It included a synchronized overlay from Google maps so that he could easily identify street and business names.

Better yet was the fact every member of the team had one of the tiny earbuds. The device was both a com unit and a GPS locator. He counted nearly two dozen flashing green dots on the LCD display. Each of the locators had a unique identification code that Marshall had logged into the system when he’d handed out the devices, so each dot included a text field beside it with the individual’s name. Most of them were stationary, though a small group that included Street, Paco, P-Boy, and a few others was still fanning out in the thick copse of trees bordering the parking lot north of the target. Marshall activated the microphone on his headset. “Heads up everybody. We’re two minutes out.”

Tony walked over and surveyed the assault team’s positions. He carried no weapons. His role in the plan required him to appear as unthreatening as possible, not an easy thing for the big man to pull off. He’d have to draw on the fear he felt for his family to complete his disguise. But for now, his face was granite, all business. He activated his com unit and broadcast to the team. “Com check.”

Becker stood across from him. His hand went up to his ear as the message came across the tac-net. He nodded to Tony, as did Papa beside him.

“Five by five,” reported Ripper. “Team One in position.”

“Team Three locked ’n’ loaded,” Snake said.

After a short delay, Marshall said, “Team Two. Are you up?”

“Steady and ready
, holmes
,” Street said. There was bloodlust in his voice. “It’s time to waste ’em.”

**

Tony let out a low growl at Street’s tone. He shared a tense look with Becker.

Papa picked up on the exchange. “Don’t worry, Sarge,” he said. “Street will do his part just fine. He’s just getting his boys charged up, that’s all. He’ll wait for the signal, just like the rest of ’em.”

The sucker
better
wait, Tony thought.  He was worried. Big time. This thing could go to hell in an instant. They had plenty of men, but only a few had the kind of experience necessary to pull this off.

Tony moved closer to the video screen and focused on the two-man sniper team positioned on a water tower two hundred yards northeast of the target. “Snake, whadaya see?”

“Three skylights. One propped open with an interior ladder leading rooftop. One sentry up top and another on a catwalk just beneath him. Neither one’s on alert.”